


there is suffering too terrible to name

by beamemeson



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: M/M, how does one do tags tbh, im sorry for writing it, this is so sad, wonho kicks ass tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 01:19:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15984533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beamemeson/pseuds/beamemeson
Summary: it’s ingrained into changkyun's code, now, the evasiveness taught in practice rooms during his first year or so of training. he holds true to it, time and time again, and it has saved him several times.but, as he feels two fingers pinching at the nerve at the back of his neck, he remembers that those lessons are not foolproof.





	there is suffering too terrible to name

**Author's Note:**

> please be wary of the non-con tag on this before you continue! stay safe, everyone!

weary, half-closed eyes dart around from stage light to table to performance to enormous television screen to the water bottle sitting before him. impatient, anxious fingers tap on the pitch black tabletop as his right knee plays jump rope- up, down, up, down, up, down- utterly oblivious to the pain it feels, and a fresh wave of nervousness suddenly bubbles up in his chest, squeezing his heartstrings until he feels like he can’t breathe. it’s hot in here, overwhelmingly hot, and as happy as the fans might be, he refuses to take off his suit jacket, because even with everyone’s eyes on the stage, he knows someone somewhere has a camera in their hands, recording he and his members’ every move.

he looks around. jooheon is mimicking the rap verse being performed, smiling and using ridiculous hand gestures that make minhyuk laugh, his hands slamming against the table as he directs hyunwoo’s attention jooheon’s way. hyunwoo laughs, too, in that reserved way he has always found so charming, and kihyun glances at the trio and rolls his eyes, but he knows very well that the smile on his face is genuine simply because it doesn’t go away for a few minutes afterward. hyungwon is taking a sip of his water, sweat dripping off his forehead, and wonho… wonho is staring straight back at him. his heart leaps up into his throat and for just a second he forgets how to make his brain work, forgets to morph his face into an unbothered, peaceful, serene expression, and wonho is nothing if not observant. he doesn’t miss the miserable look in the youngest’s gaze, and he mouths at him:

_are you okay?_

changkyun’s intelligence catches up with his heartbeat as swiftly as it fell off the track and he nods enthusiastically, offering the other a thumbs up and a reassuring smile. wonho looks skeptical, but is then distracted by jooheon tapping his shoulder as he dances along to the song being performed on stage. a breath of relief slips past changkyun’s lips without him even noticing that it was being held back in the first place, and once more, the oversensitivity strikes him right in the ribcage and knocks all the air out of his lungs. he remembers, now, how much he hates lying- it catches up to him just as he never expects it to. the anxiety makes room for the guilt- they bleed together, now- and he stares down at his lap until fireworks pop up on stage to cap off the performance on a high, _loud_ note.

in that instant, he decides he has had enough, and stands up out of his seat in a hurry. he rests one shaking hand on kihyun’s shoulder, and the older man looks up at him for just a second before realizing where changkyun is going and giving him permission to leave. changkyun walks away, all too aware that the pink-haired man didn’t tell him to take care this time around- it’s a habit of his, one changkyun has always had a field day making fun of him for, but without it to finish off their small talk, he feels somewhat empty.

his heartbeat grows louder and louder in his ears as he steps further and further away from the chaos of the main stage. he enters a well-lit hallway that smells vaguely like cleaning supplies, all the floors and walls white as snow, and he breathes in deeply. he considers it a miracle that the artificial lemon scent refreshes his senses instead of worsening his nausea, and then reminds himself not to remind himself of the nausea.

as he walks into the restroom, his knee gives him a not-so-gentle reminder that it hurts. it hurts like a bitch, when _doesn’t_ it by now, and he stumbles a bit as he reaches for the sink. luckily, he manages to stay standing, and he’s turning the cold water knob when he sees another man entering the restroom out of his peripheral vision. he keeps his head hung low, wary of recognition even while at award shows, places he is expected to be recognized at. it’s ingrained into his code, now, the evasiveness taught in practice rooms during his first year or so of training. he holds true to it, time and time again, and it has saved him several times.

but, as he reaches his clammy hands into the running water and feels two fingers pinching at the nerve at the back of his neck, he remembers that those lessons are not foolproof.

it happens all too quickly. a lightning-like pain that turns his vision all white attacks his neck, worming its way down his spine and up into his skull, and his bones rattle with the intensity of it. he thinks, for just a moment, that he has never felt a pain like this one, and then he’s being dragged into the furthest bathroom stall and feels his head slam into the wall, which serves as a reminder that that is nowhere near true. he vaguely hears the door lock behind him, and he barely sees the face of the man holding him, and he hardly registers the buttons of his jacket coming undone, but when it finally, finally hits him, he screams at the top of his lungs. he hears it bounce off of each and every wall, and he imagines it dancing through the pure white hallway and into someone’s eardrums. he waits for the sound of footsteps, for the door to open, for someone to pull him to safety, but the moment never comes.

instead, one large hand lifts to his throat and clutches it tightly, giving him zero opportunities to breathe, and the only sound that comes out when he tries to beg him to stop is an inaudible, pained wheeze. his tiny, delicate hands fly up to grip the other’s, desperately clawing at his knuckles as he pleads with bulging eyes for release from those shackles. the man’s voice slides off his tongue like honey dripping from a scratched-up chalkboard as he whispers in his ear:

“scream, and i will kill you.”

the man waits just long enough, _just_ until changkyun can’t not breathe any longer, _just_ until his prayers for survival overcome his attempts at tapping into the strong, capable willpower he only has and has only ever had when competing and performing. changkyun’s pleading eyes stare into his only as long as they need to, and then the man’s grip loosens. he gasps for air, tears now absolutely _pouring_ down his face, and he tries to keep quiet as he catches his breath. he tries to keep distracted as the man’s lips trail down his jawline and his teeth snag the intersection between his throat and his shoulder. he tries to tune himself out as his jacket falls slightly off, and his shirt tears open, and his pants slide down. he tries to listen to the song playing outside, and is only able to recognize that it’s by a female artist when he’s pulled forcefully back into the real world.

“you’re so much prettier in person,” the man tells him, and it sounds less like a compliment and more like a fire alarm. it sets his veins aflame with terror and fury, and he thinks of all the times his boyfriend has told him he is pretty, which, for the first time, doesn’t serve to bring him any comfort. it’s just a reminder that he isn’t here. that the last time he saw him, he lied to him, and now he’s all by himself in this bathroom being assaulted by a man who must have been stalking him for a long time now.

suddenly, nothing feels safe. the thought is nothing but a vague, distant echo in the back of his mind, but he hears it just well enough to choke out another agonizing sob. his throat aches with the ferocity of the man’s grip, and he wants so badly to scratch at his heavy fingers, kick him square in the belly, howl and wail until someone, _anyone_ hears him, but his words linger as a bitter taste in his mouth.

_scream, and i will kill you._

he realizes, then, that if he lives- he realizes then that he just considered that he may _not_ live, and then that this moment feels all too familiar to him- he might just carry it around in his pocket for the rest of his life. feel this man’s hands on his throat when he tries to speak up, remember the warmth of his breath against his neck when his boyfriend kisses him, hear those words in the back of his mind when he’s on a rollercoaster someday.

when the man presses into him, his vision goes black, and he tells himself he doesn’t want to think about that right now. in fact, he doesn’t want to think at all.

 

wonho’s shaking hands run through his hair, and he feels his heart pounding deep in his gut, and he honestly doesn’t know what exactly about this moment feels so _wrong_. it’s just a hunch, a barely-there shadow of a thought that he doesn’t want to believe, but it’s there, and it’s enough to drive him crazy with nervousness.

changkyun- his boyfriend, his baby, his love, his kkukkungie, his absolute _everything_ \- has been gone for fifteen minutes, now, and he knows that it’s absurd to let his thoughts run wild like this when there’s probably nothing wrong at all, knows it would be suspicious to follow him into the restroom, knows what people may think if he does, but he nibbles at his bottom lip and glances at his phone. it’s been sixteen minutes, now. it’s been sixteen minutes, and his baby could be hurt, or tired, or worse, and he’s starting to feel like he can’t breathe right. suddenly it’s been seventeen minutes, and he knows of the whispers, knows of the suspicions, knows of the ‘evidence,’ knows of all of it, and he definitely knows that maybe this isn’t a good idea, but it’s been _seventeen minutes_ , and his trembling lips can’t stay closed for much longer.

“it’s been seventeen minutes,” wonho speaks into kihyun’s ear, voice desperate and raspy with exhaustion and terror, and he’s hardly able to hear himself over the pounding of the music through the speakers in the walls. kihyun knows exactly what he’s talking about, likely because it’s all that has been running through his mind for the past near-twenty minutes, too, and he pauses. wonho’s breath catches in his throat, and finally the other sighs, nods his head, and wonho practically throws his chair aside as he stands up out of it.

he walks down the aisle toward the back of the room like nothing is wrong, like he’s feeling just fine, like his heart isn’t about to tear itself forcefully out of his chest. but when he’s out of eyeshot of everyone else in the room, he makes a break for it.

he can’t even hear his footsteps on the tile as he sprints, the blood pumping in his ears loud enough to block everything else out. it hardly occurs to him that he may be overreacting, that when he enters this bathroom, he could- _would_ , probably- most assuredly see his beautiful boyfriend tossing water onto his face at the sink, and he would surely turn to him with that gorgeous smile of his and say ‘hi’ in that deep voice, and everything would be right with the world, but he can’t fight how wrong it feels right now, in this instant.

wonho slows his pace as he steps into the bathroom, and he pauses for a long time before scanning underneath the stall doors. he sees one pair of shoes, and he can’t really remember which ones changkyun was wearing earlier today, but he feels his heartbeat slow with relief as he calls, “kkukkung? you in here?”

it automatically speeds back up again when he hears no response.

wonho steps closer to the end stall with the feet underneath, and he tries not to breathe, tries to silence everything inside of him to listen closely. he hears the music outside, feels the bass still ringing in his bones, but he pushes it all aside as he tunes into the sound in this room right now.

and, for just a second, he hears something.

he can’t figure out what it is for a few seconds, the sound swimming through his head as he tries to come up with an answer, and when it hits him, it hits him with everything it’s got.

it sounds like a choked cry.

wonho’s voice is more panicked, more urgent, as he rushes to the end stall and shouts, “changkyun!?”

there comes a loud, pained grunt that wonho immediately recognizes doesn’t belong to changkyun, and then an ear-splitting scream of, _"hyung!”_ tears through the remaining white noise. wonho takes no time to hesitate.

maybe it’s the adrenaline coursing through his veins, or maybe it’s the months of grueling physical training that surmount to this moment in which wonho kicks at the hinges of the bathroom door, not for one second expecting it to _actually_ cave, and it miraculously does. it falls down inwardly with a clatter that doesn’t seem nearly as loud in wonho’s ears as the sound of changkyun sobbing into his knees at the far left wall. his senses, enhanced by the panic, instantly pick up on the things about changkyun that shouldn’t be that way. his suit jacket is halfway down his right arm, and one of the buttons lays on the tile nearby, torn off with reckless abandon. his shirt is torn, too, all the way down to his abdomen, and his pitch black dress pants have been tugged down his thighs, revealing some of the milky white skin there, and wonho’s blood runs blazing hot with inextinguishable fury.

as soon as he sights the much larger man on the floor to his right, he lunges at him, but the man manages to scramble to his feet just in time to avoid him. luckily, wonho is just as quick- he dodges the man’s attempt at shoving him into the wall, and stands up to match his height. all his years of self-defense training, of karate and boxing and taekwondo, culminate into this one moment as he puts all the strength and hatred and anger overflowing within him into his right fist and he swings with all of his might square at the man’s jaw.

and he hits.

there’s an echoing _crack_ as the man is struck right in the face, and he collapses backwards into the wall and then onto the floor. it doesn’t take a genius to know he’s out cold.

in any other situation, wonho would use this time to call someone in, or maybe do an all new number on the son of a bitch who hurt his baby, but all that only serves to remind him in that moment of what- or _who_ \- is more important right now.

wonho falls to the ground, feeling absolutely none of the pain in his knees he probably should feel, and he meets changkyun in the middle of the bathroom stall. his arms are around the younger’s tiny, quaking form sooner than he can even tell them to do so, and changkyun’s sobs seem to take every fiber of his being to force out through his badly-bruised throat as they wrack his whole body like a storm. he whispers in his ears through the tears now dripping down his own cheeks, and changkyun weeps _‘hyung’_ into his chest so many times he can’t even count.

wonho doesn’t know how long they stay there, but at some point kihyun is in the bathroom, too, and then hyunwoo, and then minhyuk, and then jooheon and hyungwon. at some point, the man is dragged away by security, and then he’s sitting in an ambulance beside changkyun passed out on a stretcher, and when changkyun wakes up a few hours later, all six of them are right there to tell him he’s okay, that no one is going to hurt him ever again, that they’re sorry, how brave he was, and all else they could possibly think of.

and it breaks wonho’s heart when changkyun won’t let him kiss him, but he doesn’t say anything.

**Author's Note:**

> im so sorry for writing this and especially sorry for making you read it, but i hope you even moderately enjoyed it?? if not the story, then the writing itself, bc i've worked very hard on this for a few weeks now.
> 
> have a good day/evening/night, everyone, and please know that you are loved so so much!


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